Hush
by Agent Evey
Summary: While mourning Evey's absence, fate calls upon V to step into the lives of two young children. Conflict arises when V realizes that he can not do this alone.


Hush- Part 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing from V for Vendetta. I don't make any profit off of these little tidbits of writing. Purely for my own entertainment and for the benefit of others when faced with times of great boredom.

***

Thick bundles of cloud cover blanketed the sky above London as twilight approached, the first tendrils of an oncoming storm presenting themselves through the soft pitter patter of raindrops and an increasingly heavy wind. V grunted and adjusted the brim of his hat, temporarily diverting the water from his eyes and the mask. The rain was a mere annoyance in the sea of his ponderings. He stood rigidly atop his beloved rooftop, one hand poised against the guardrail, steadying his balance as his gaze floated over the cityscape around him.

It was a moment of weakness for V, to be pondering such matters. For the past month or so he had done a stellar job of putting Evey out of his mind, shifting the majority of his focus back on his beloved Vendetta, spending his days planning, preparing, and perfecting upcoming events, and spending his night executing them. He buried himself deep in the avalanche of his work, surrounding himself in the very darkness that had birthed him, sharpening his thoughts on those whom he had sworn to abhor forever. Every minute he felt the steady throb of his enemies' heartbeats countering the cries of those who had been lost. Every second he heard the slip of a knife burrowing deeply into their respective bags of flesh, ending those rhythms forever, satiating the appetites of both the dead and the living alike.

There was very little enjoyment left now in his ever diminishing life. Sleep was sparse, and uncomfortable; food, barely even edible with such a small appetite, and everything in his gallery that had once been enjoyable--his books, his music, and his films--now only served to remind him of his fast approaching end.

And that end he looked forward to, seeing it as a reprieve, his final release from this cruel and demanding world. There was no freedom left within it for him, whatever spark of liberation he had gained that night in the fire had now been passed down to Evey.

Death, both a damnation and a reward, was calling for him, and he had every intention of answering its plea. After what he had done, and after what had been done to him, his resolve was final. There was no room for reconsideration on the matter, he allowed none.

None, that is, until every time he came up to his rooftop and heard a siren; then his seemingly unwavering sense of certitude became torn.

It was solely over Evey that his thoughts would then wander, hesitant at first, until the consistent demand of those waxing and waning calls would, like a battering ram, force the subject far passed the heavy barricades set against his carefully guarded subconscious psyche and into the realm of his cognizant mind Lacking the will to fight against such ponderings once this happened, the subject flooded his being.

Evey, evey, evey.

She made him rethink his motives, his goals, his intentions…his very existence upon this earth. A dilemma that he had never in his conscious life been faced with before meeting her. For so long the Vendetta had been his only motive in life, the only thing that had given him true passion and purpose, it only seemed fitting that his end should come with the conclusion of his life's work; but Evey, oh Evey, was reawakening parts of his soul that he had previously thought gone forever. A most delicious and terrifying distraction.

He loved her, of that he had no doubt. But what, exactly, could such a heartfelt confession entail? And why did it frighten him so?

Did he really want to end this in blood? His blood? Did he really want to die with the rest of Norsefire's scum? Creedy and all of his men could easily be downed without his presence. One flick of the wrist and they would all be would be dead, leaving himself unharmed and free to pursue a future. He had no doubt that Sutler would be delivered as promised, else he would not have planned to show up to their little meeting spot in the first place. Parliament would still fall down, and the people would still be free. There was really no need for…

His thoughts came to an abrupt halt as he realized the true reason behind his ever growing fear of Evey, an explanation that was, to him, entirely unexpected. Truly baffling to his world weary, battle worn mind.

V had expected that the fear would be based on guilt over crimes committed upon her person by him lo these past few months, or perhaps regret over letting her leave the gallery…something which typically forced him into a deep state of self reflection and damnation, or questioning his sense of morality and humanity. Even love he would have considered, his love for her distracted him, and caused him much remorse. But no, it was none of these things, neither guilt nor regret, nor even his love of her that had caused such a powerful emotion.

He was afraid of her because she made him want live. Her presence in his life had shaken the very foundations of his being, and had wrought within him such a profound and alien sense of hope that he could only gaze in terrified wonder the prospects of it. Just as Valierie had mothered his drive for revenge all those long years ago in the horrifying hell of Larkhill, so Evey was mothering his formerly long dead hope for trees and a future. She was not a product of this revolution, nor was she a victim of it--at least not any longer--she was the revolution itself, the missing piece that he never realized he needed. A vision of the future, and a representation of the people who had been victimized this government.

Over the years he had forgotten the true intentions of his Vendetta, the original goal in this quest. Time had muddled his mind and anger had clouded his senses; it had started not with anger, or revenge, or hatred, but with love, and somehow V had forgotten that over the years. The roses that he grew for Valerie had become a symbol of death, rather than an oath for hope and a eulogy for the victims of the current government, and despite the fact that the products of it surrounded him daily, despite his attempts to preserve it's culture and history, he had all but abandoned his stake in humanity. Disconnection from society and people as a whole had caused him to neglect his investment and original love for the people surrounding him.

Instead of nurturing his love of the world he had grown to despise it within his deep, dark, labyrinth of a home. The effects of such a revulsion slowly turned his radiant museum into a vile sarcophagus, a personal snapshot of hell where the majority of his activities were focused upon revenge and killing, and where he secretly seethed with jealousy over those that lived above him who had homes, families, and love to return to at the end of the day. His original sense of freedom in this world had been limited and he had reflexively imprisoned himself in a pit of, loneliness, anguish, despair, and hatred. People were now but mere vermin to be snuffed out within this tragic world. His goals focused solely upon eliminating those who were responsible for his time in Larkhill, and for Valerie's brutal death. As Evey had stated he was "getting back at them." Revenge ruled everything in his world now; it drove him to a point of madness, and corrupted his sense of truth and beauty.

For so long that corruption had disgusted him, and he wished for nothing more than to be rid of this awful world and what it had made him into. Monsters did not deserve to live in such places, there was no point in continuing his existence in a world that would never truly accept him. His crimes against it were simply too great.

Or so he had long thought.

Now, however with Evey, he had been dealt a wild card in this game of life. Her presence had changed everything, cleansing all of his beliefs, and blatantly reminding him of his original intentions. It was not just about getting back at those who had violated his sense of justice, it was about restoring hope and granting the promise of a brighter future. It was not just about creating chaos anymore, it was about restoring harmony, in the hearts of all men. Roses were not death, they were fire, life, and vitality, and they needed to be in the world once more. Valerie had guided them both into their newfound existences, she was the only family he had ever known; she had mothered him, in a way, and now she had done the same for Eve. She shown Evey roses, and Evey cherished them, she saw them in a light that he had never before considered.

Evey was the world to him, and in falling in love with her, he had fallen in love with the world again. The notion was as baffling as it was heartbreaking and devastating.

He wanted to fix it, he wanted to be there for it's restoration, wanted to rear it as if it were his own child. For so long he thought it his sole duty to destroy world, but now….now he was beginning to believe that he may have had another part to play. Perhaps there was a tree for him in life. Perhaps maybe even…

"No," he intoned,, shaking his head as he interrupted his thoughts. It was a foolish notion, utterly unrealistic and unattainable. This revolutions would lose it's father, and Evey would inherit everything. He was fated to die in this tragedy of a play. There were no happy endings, only death awaited him, grinning at him and taunting him from afar. A horrible and inevitable reprieve; the only thing he deserved.

He looked up to the sky above, the rain was heavy now, it dripped past his eye screens, hitting his hidden eyelids beneath.

"'Away with our destroyers, They have no place within our better world,'" he said gravely, his strong voice weakening and wavering. He choked back a sob, barely even able to pronounce the next words, " 'most unlovely and most unforgivable' "

Was that really the truth? It had to be, it just had to be.

"Oh Valerie, what should I do?" he whispered as his head sank once more, "what would you have done?"

At first, there was only silence, the hush of the rain taking over his senses as he drowned himself in thought. He closed his eyes behind the mask, aware that he would receive no answer.

And it was then that he heard a scream, small and distant, but full of fear.

V tensed at the noise, unsure, at first if he had heard correctly. His head shifted to the side, mangled ears carefully trying to sort out the various sounds coming from the below.

There. There it was again. A gloved hand tightened its grip upon the railing.

"Where are you?" V whispered, a mere muffle beneath the painted mask as he surveyed the darkening scenery around him.

And again. To the east.

V sprang into action, running to the side of the balcony and scaling the adjacent wall, embarking on a trip he had taken countless times in the past, prowling like a cat over and into the rooftops and streets of London.

Curfew was still a few hours away, and he would have to be careful. Twilight was nearly at an end, and darkness seeped over the land, but anyone with a wandering eye might have caught the black silhouette of a man against dark sky, a ghost lit within the lightning, there one moment and gone the next.

***

Elsewhere in London, a young boy, barely into adolescence, was running for his life. Past buildings and cars, his legs heaved upon the slick yet solid ground, every moment threatening to make him trip. Upon his back his younger sister held fast, crying all of the way--whether from the thunder, the darkness, or the two men chasing after them one could not tell. Both the boy and his sister were drenched, despite the tiny yellow raincoat that the latter wore. There was no choice for them but to be outside, however. They no longer had a home to return too.

At the next crack of lightning the girl screamed.

"Shut up Bella," the young boy attempted to whisper, but found it hard through lack of breath, "they're going to catch up if they hear us! You have to stop!"

The girl stifled her cries, reverting to soft whimpers instead. "I'm scared!"

He stopped momentarily at the junction of an alleyway and the larger street that they had been attempting to run on. His neck strained as he considered the distance behind them, and he held his breath as tried to hear the heavy thud of boots through the pounding rain. No sounds…not yet.

"I know, but you've got to be quiet," he said as he turned, opting to try and foil the men by running into the alleyway, "we're going to hide in here, don't make a peep."

She responded by burying her head into the back of his neck, shaking with fear. There were no monsters if she could not see them.

With caution, he stepped into the dimly lit area, instinct guiding him to be fearful of what lay within the darker spaces. There was a rather large trash bin ahead of them, and to the side of it, mounted upon a white building, was a partially broken escape ladder. Half of it had broken off, and the rest was hanging high in the air. It looked sturdy enough for them, he thought; it would be a long climb, but if they went up it one at a time perhaps they could hide on the roof.

_Where were they?_

He climbed up to the top of the trash bin and placed his little sister on his shoulders. "Reach for the ladder," he instructed.

She tried to reach but her hand fell short of the distance, "I can't!"

"Alright hold onto my neck again." She did as she was told, straddling his back once more, afraid to let go or lose contact.

They would have to climb up together. He tested the surface of the bin, trying to stay balanced on the slick metal. It was pliable, and bent to his weight, but did not break. He jumped up, and tottered as they almost fell to the ground.

"Adam!" she shouted without thought.

_There, nearby. _

"Shhh!" he hushed, as he looked up to the ladder once more. There would only be one chance to do this, if they fell they would both be injured. He swung his arms back and leapt up, managing to grab the first rung of the ladder with both hands. His knuckles blanched as he fought to hold on without slipping. The metal below them popped up with the release of his weight, causing a cold metallic clang.

"Ack," he grunted as his young back tensed under the pressure.

"I hear 'em!" a thick, grungy voice yelled the distance, "That way!"

_He could not run fast enough. _

"On no…hold on, Bella! Don't let go!" Adam started to climb the slippery rungs, one hand at a time, no place for his feet yet, his muscles taut, threatening to snap at any moment. His breath was loud and heavy, his small back groaning with the effort to hold his younger sister; she wasn't really all that heavy, but after an hour her weight was beginning to wear on him. Thin arms and underdeveloped muscles could only take so much.

When he finally reached a height where he could place his feet, he paused and rested his head against a rung, breathless. His muscles were weak, and shaking. He did not know whether or not they would be able to get to the top on time.

"There they are! Grab his leg!"

The boy's blood ran cold at the sound of the men's voices. His heart rate quickened even more, his muscles shook with newfound tension, and his eyes dilated as he turned a weighted gaze behind them, towards the entrance of the alleyway. He could barely see through water-blurred eyes as their shadows entered the alleyway, two monsters, one with a long metal stick, waiting to catch them.

They were not high enough.

His respiration accelerated as he turned his gaze back around sharply, his head gazing up towards the heavens, and towards his destination. It was so high, he thought, his hope waning. He wanted to cry, but he could not. Not here, in front of his little sister, when she was counting on him. …when she needed him.

Time slowed as he growled to grab at the next rung. Everything a blur of heartbeats and breathing. His sister began to cry, unable to hold her fear in any longer.

One rung.

_A cloud of darkness rounded the corner and into the alleyway._

Two rungs.

_The two men yelped as they were slammed into the walls._

Three rungs.

_A creamy white mask turned to the two children as the men tried to recover from their dazed stupors. Its eyes hollow, its brows dark, a Cheshire grin adorning its face. Mocking the world with its painted blush. _

Four rungs. Adam was too tired. His legs gave out on him, and he began to slip. Isabelle screamed as they fell a few feet. He caught one of the bars with one hand. The force slammed them to the side, and he listened as his sister's head hit the side of the ladder. She cried out. His hand began to slip again. They were not going to make it, they were going to fall. He was going to fail. Their mother was going to be killed.

_He saw them fall, and noted as the boy grabbed the last rung. His boots thudded against the hard ground as he reacted. There was barely a thought to be had as he lunged and jumped to grab the boy before they fell. _

Adam felt an arm as it wrapped around his torso and cried out as a wave of darkness covered his vision. The rain stopped pelting upon him, but he could still hear it. Was he passing out? They were still for a moment, and then he felt himself jerked upwards, his sister held to him fast, her sobs were muffled by the blackness around them. Someone had them. He began to kick and yell at the man to let them go, his feet dangling about the thickness of cloth. A few moments later they stopped ascending and he felt as the man jumped and landed upon solid ground. Before he knew it he was set on his feet, and his sister fell from him to the ground. The blackness left his eyes, to be replaced by an even darker vision of horror. A bone white face, frozen in place with a horrible grin.

V saw the boy's astonished gasp, had expected it, considering how he must have looked from a child's perspective. He was the stuff of nightmares, the thing that mothers chased away with nightlights, the creature that fathers boasted strength enough to conquer in battle. He advanced one step towards them, and the boy picked up his sister and backed away, almost to the edge of the rooftop.

V stepped back, his head cocking to the side.

"I am not here to harm you, young sir." his voice was a clear baritone piercing through the falling rain. "I only offer you, and your sister, my protection from the men that chase you."

The boy considered him, confused, at first, by V's apparent kindness, and then his eyes widened as recognition set in. Adam had seen this face before. "You're that man, aren't you," he blurted out. "That man on the telly?"

"Yes, I'm afraid I've made the news quite a few times these past few months."

He looked up at V with a newfound fear. "Are you going to blow us up?"

"No, certainly not. I am here to protect you."

"But I…I thought you were a bad guy."

"That is a matter of opinion, and perhaps I shall elaborate on that later but first we must come to an understanding, for time is not upon our side." V paused, letting his words sink in. He took a step closer to them, "those men, below. I shall go to them and drive them away, if you wish, and then deliver you to safety. Say it is your will and it shall be done."

"Please…please make them go. They're trying to catch us. I think they mean to kill us."

"So I have witnessed. Follow me, then, I shall show you where to wait."

V lead them to the overhang of a large air conditioning unit atop the roof, and instructed them to stay there. He crouched to his knees as the two children sat down beside each other.

"Shield your ears, and close your eyes, little one," he said gently, and took the girl's hands; she whimpered, still afraid. "I will not hurt you dear," he hushed. "Please, you will be safe soon." With tenderness, he guided her small hands to her ears, and nodded towards her brother, indicating that he should to the same. Adam stared at him, skeptical at first, but then he shrugged, deciding for the moment that V was indeed, a "good guy."

V halted him just before he brought his palms to his head, issuing one last order. "You must keeps your eyes open, young sir. If you see anyone else up here, run, but please do not uncover your ears until I return. Is that understood?"

The boy nodded, and V tugged his cloak tight around the two of them and placed his hat over the girls eyes, lest she see anything that she should not. Both items would only have weighed him down in such conditions, providing no defense against the pounding rain which fell sideways in sheets with the flow of the wind. He stood, and gave a satisfied nod before standing and making his way over to the edge of the rooftop. Without the extra barriers of hat and cloak, water began to seep through V's several layers of clothing and protection. It soaked his boots, pelted his mask, soiled his tunic, and matted his wig all within the brief span of a few minutes. Visibility in this sort of weather was very low, and V had to squint through the yellow haze of the street lights to see the shapes of the two men below.

His auditory senses were not quite as hindered, despite the pelting rain; years of living in the dark tunnels of subterranean London had enabled V to pick up even the smallest traces of noise, a feature that was only enhanced by his genetic deformities. He turned an ear towards the conversation below. Judgment, in his mind, had already been passed, but he wished for confirmation. These men would have only a few minutes to state their respective cases, before a force than many deemed more terrifying than the darkness of hell would fall upon them.

"There's no sign of them…can't have gone far, there's no way anyone can clear that rooftop without a death wish. They've gotta come back down," said a tall, burly man with bushy eyebrows and a trimmed beard.

"Sh**, Harry. Jim's gonna kill us" exclaimed a younger, thinner man with a lanky gait.

"Heh, not if he kills that broad of his first, eh?"

"Where'd you think he took 'em?"

"Dunno, I barely saw the guy, looked he came out of nowhere…like in a f****** horror movie."

"Do you suppose it's that terrorist? Sort of looked like he was wearing a mask, don't you think?"

"Now what's that damn terrorist gonna do with a couple of kids eh? Chock em' full of explosives and send them for an interview at the BTN? Everyone's got one of those mask's now, remember? Pro'lly just some old sod trying to be heroic. You go climb that roof an see if he's still there. We shoulda' had them kids caught over an hour ago."

"The hell if I'm climbin' up there. Man gives me the collywobbles, he does. You do it."

"Alright, then you go an' walk around the building."

"That's even worse!"

"Damnit, Dave! Whad'you wanna to then, sit here on yer a** and call 'im like a dog? He's not gonna come to us. We've gotta find 'em. Money's at stake here."

V turned his attention away from the conversation and towards the rooftops about him. All were within leaping distance, he judged from which direction he should approach the men below. The side of a nearby roof looked like a promising vantage point.

Cautiously, he made his way over to the rooftop, and slid down a metal rain pipe that ran along the side of the building. He jumped down the last few feet to the solid ground below, boots thudding as he landed in a crouch. The men, their backs only a few meters away from their phantom foe, did not seem to notice this; whether from the rain or pure lack of awareness, V could not tell, but the situation acted to his advantage as he crept closer behind the two, a vision of stealth and silence. He surveyed the men from behind. Both were carrying guns in hand and the older, stockier gentleman had a steel lever hanging from his belt. V assumed was later intended to be put to use as a makeshift truncheon.

A truncheon that's foul sweep would have been directed against one of the two children he had just pulled to safety upon the rooftop above…

The idea made the vigilante's blood boil, hitting an especially soft spot within his deeply troubled soul. After all, had he not been indirectly responsible for sufferings and deaths of thousands of those very same types of innocent lives? Years of deeply buried sorrow and self-torture rose within V, providing him a point of focus and sending him into a state of controlled rage. It was the perfect catalyst for his subsequent decision to reveal himself and engage in battle.

Dark, trembling hands reached for their familiar grasps around the first two slippery pommels sheathed along his knife belt. Without the cloak, every inch of him was soaked, and the threat of error increased. He would have to be surgical in his actions and unwavering in his resolve.

V released a loud, heady breath behind the men--as if to blow out a candle--causing both to jerk their heads back. As they did so his hands snaked around their necks, locking a knife to each throat. He watched as the men's eyes contracted and then dilated in fear, his own hidden eyes raging with unseen anger.

"Now gentlemen," he began, his deep, ambient voice addressing them with a sense of sarcastic congeniality, "I've a few questions that need answering."

***

Far away in a different section of London the young Evey Hammond, over whom V so often festered, was preparing to take a walk.

Even with the knowledge that curfew was less than hour away, she walked, fearless of the consequences if she was to return too late. It was a journey that she had taken every Saturday since she had left the Shadow Gallery and neither the time limit nor the inclement weather stood a chance against stopping her from embarking on it tonight. She bundled her coat about her and held her umbrella with a firm grip, attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible. Just another woman trying to get home in inclement weather.

The rain brought both comfort and confliction to her world weary mind. 'God is in the rain,' she thought, as she walk onwards, 'but V is too.'

Every time it rained she thought about him, and what he had done…both to her and for her. For so long hurt and anger had clouded her judgment, and she had seen him as nothing more than a monster, some vile creature whose inner soul was as black and empty as the vision he portrayed. Beneath the mask she had only seen a lie, and a being so shattered that he could barely be called a man at all.

…but that was not true. None of it was true. He had not betrayed her, not at all. It had taken her quite a long time to come to such a realization, and even when she had it had been hard to accept it but she was finally beginning to see the error of her ways. A tiny beam of sunlight was making its way through the darkness of her mind, revealing the truth.

…and the truth was that yes, V _had _stripped her down to nothing, had driven her to a point of such shame and humiliation that she fancied she would never recover again, but it had all been for a reason. All of it had been calculated for her benefit, to assure her future. He had brought her down to nothing…only to give her everything.

Gone was what had long ago passed as her former "life," a world of fear, oppression, deprivation, and frailty, replaced now by something far more profound; an existence filled with passion, vitality, bravery, and hope. The world was no longer made up of vague illusions, shadows dancing across a blank stone wall*, but of real, solid entities--bright, vivid, and beautiful amidst the tragedy of existence. Something she never would or could have even envisioned before, she had been far too afraid. So many beautiful and enlightening things were neglected in this broken world that she was a part of, all because people were afraid to understand them. They had been taught to fear them. Just as she had been taught to fear V, and what he stood for. She was not afraid of him anymore, however, and understood him more completely than she believed anyone else ever had.

He was not a monster, he was beautiful, absolutely beautiful…but there was no way that she would ever be able to tell him that now. Not after she had hurt him so much. He had not wanted her to leave the gallery, and had even attempted to stall her exit on the day that she had left. It was a terrible mistake, she should not have left. So anxious was she, to have her own freedom and to pursue a new existence, and a life of her own, that it was not until it was far too late that she had realized where she had left her heart.

…it was still back in the gallery, with him, and all of his beautiful things.

Belief was hard to admit, but she could only deny the truth for so long. Against all odds, and against even her own carefully constructed moral foundations she had fallen in love with him.

There, she admitted it to herself. She loved him.

Loved him, loved him, loved him; every bit of him, but she would never be able to tell him. She lacked the courage.

Evey felt a soft hand alight upon her shoulder, and it startled her out of her thoughts. She turned to mark the wrinkled but smiling countenance of an older woman with long, matted, graying hair tied back into a hasty ponytail. In her hand she held a wide basket with an umbrella taped to it's side. It was stocked with a few items of food and several parcels of random necessities. She recognized the face, that of a recent friend, and one whose kindness and acceptance had been invaluable to Evey over the past month or so. On her fifth day after being released the woman had caught Evey wandering the streets, trying to steal food from a trash bin. She had been amiable enough to invite Evey into her meager and impoverished home, and had helped to nourish her back to health. Evey no longer lived with her, but had never forgotten the favors that she had been dealt.

"Hello deary, terrible weather, eh?" The woman spoke kindly, her voice possessed the hardy intonations of age, soothing in a way, to Evey's younger and less experienced ears. "You don't look so well. Is something wrong?"

"Oh, hello Mrs. Abbie," she replied cordially, although she really was not in the mood for conducting conversations, "no, I'm fine. I was just...thinking. How are you and Charles this evening?" Well _there _was a lie, she thought. She was not fine…she was the complete opposite of fine. Everything was growing chaotic, and her emotions were flip-flopping around a man she had vowed forever to hate.

The old woman gave Evey an expression of exasperation. "I'm enjoyin' a few moments of freedom, myself. Charlie's been moaning about his knees all day. Old cad just won't stop griping. I told him I was going to get him some medicine…really just needed to get out but don't let him on to that, I'll never hear the end of it."

"I'm sorry…"

"Oh it's alright dear, I love him all the same. Jus' acts like a baby when his arthritis starts hurtin'. As soon as I get him fed he'll forget about it. Then he'll sweeten up again."

Evey smiled. How nice it must have been, to have someone to rely on and come home too--someone to love freely.

Mrs. Abbie leaned toward her, and began to whisper, "better get back before curfew starts," she warned, "don't want to get caught out here with one of the finger's. I hear they've been especially horrible to the womenfolk these past few weeks, this entire city's growin' restless now that that terrorists puttin' a threat on 'em. They deserve it really, after all they've put us through. At least one of us has finally gone loony enough to say something' about it."

"Yeah…"

"Do be careful though, poppet, I don't want to see another pretty little thing like you end up in the hands of one of those men. It wouldn't fit you, my dear. And we've already got enough fatherless children around here already"

"I'll be careful. I'm not going very far from here. It'll just be a few minutes." another lie, but she did not want to upset her elderly friend.

"Good then. I'd better be getting back to Charlie now, I can hear him wailing from here. I'll see you tomorrow if yer around."

"Alright, have a nice evening, Mrs. Abbie"

"You too, dearie, you too."

She watched Mrs. Abbie leave, thankful for the brevity of the conversation, but still grateful to have been graced with the woman's company for even a few sparse moments. Turning, she continued on her journey, headed in the direction to a rather familiar mausoleum. A place that reeked with the faint fragrance of death and tickled at the tresses of her most horrible memories, with walls that quite literally had her brothers name written all over them.

***

"Tell me, for I am finding it very hard to understand, "V snarled at the two men, "what _exactly _were you doing out at such an hour chasing children. Surely it is far to late for an innocent game of hide and seek."

The older one, Harry, slowly began to turns his gun towards V, hoping that the movement would not catch the terrorist's notice. It did, however, and the blade around his neck sank deeper into the skin, slicing the first layer of epidermis away. A small stream of blood began to flow down his neck, reminding him of his mortality, and affirming V's sincerity on the matter.

"Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you" V growled lowly, "in fact, a man in your position should be compelled to discard such petty tools in the face of what now haunts you."

Both men hesitated at the hidden command.

"Drop them," V gave them a slight jerk, "now."

There were two clinks as the sound of both men's guns dropped to the soggy ground below. V took a step forward, jerking the men as he did so and promptly kicked both guns away. Far enough so that neither man stood a chance if either tried to reach for a weapon.

V then released the two, and stepped back, playing with his prey, letting them think that they were safe and that there was a chance for escape. His gloves were clenched at his sides, prepared to deal out judgment as he saw fit. "Now shall I receive an answer or need I persuade you further on the matter? "

Harry spoke first. "We we're just tryin' to help them. Figured they got lost and needed help getting back to their mum."

"Oh I _highly_ doubt that"

"Just like he said," the younger one, David, chimed in, "we found them"

V brandished a blade once more and took a chilling step towards them.

"'eh c'mon now, chap" the bulkier one said somewhat jovially, trying to lighten the situation, "we're on your side. We're not finger's or nothin'"

V took another step towards them, David looked anxiously back towards his gun, lying idle in the muck, then turned towards his partner. "He's got no f****** right to stick his nose in our business." he exclaimed, and then his resistant yet fearful gaze turned back to V, "you've got no f****** right!"

"No?" V advanced upon the young man, who predictably raised an arm to strike in defense. This arm, V seized and with controlled strength bent it back in an unquestionably unnatural and highly uncomfortable position.

The man gasped in pain, and then, with the encouragement of V's weight, sank to his knees. His partner, the started towards the two but was quickly foiled by a phantom dagger, the surgically aimed steel blade whisked past his neck and caught the shoulder of his long coat, forcing him back onto a nearby wall. The blade sank effortlessly into the brick, effectively pinning him.

"And I suppose you have every right to terrorize the lives of two innocent children who quite obviously weren't looking to be found." V continued, holding David firm within his iron grip.

"We're were just…"

"You were not 'just' doing anything with those guns, 'do you think that I am easier to be play'd on than a pipe?' " V placed a glove on the back of the mans neck and squeezed hard, "now let's try again now shall we?"

"Let go of me you sh**head." The man began to squirm, trying to get free until V jerked his arm back even further, causing an immense amount of pain to course through his nerves.

"Ahh! Alright, alright!" he squealed "Jimmy sent us he sent us after 'em!" his breathing quickened, discomfort was evident.

"Ah, we have a name." he shoved his prey further, until his head merged into the wet and rocky ground ,"do please tell me more about this fascinating individual."

"'he's a finger…ack…an' he's been bangin' their mother. Lady's got a history, pretty little thing though, she's half negro…her family was killed in the reclamation, she would 'ave been too if not for that man she ended up livin' with….ahh…He hid her from creedy's dogs. The children are his. Jimmy had him killed about a year ago and keeps her for himself now, tells her he'll have them all bagged if she tries to get away. I 'spect he's gonna kill her if we don't get those kids back. They're the only thing keeping her from goin' to the coppers."

V slammed the man's head hard into the ground, threatening to break his neck, and then let go of him.

"Ah…f***, my arm!" the he yelped, rolling over onto his back and cradling his elbow to his chest as he moaned in pain, "f***, f***, f***."

"Be thankful that it is your only woe at present." V rumbled, then walked past the man and towards his partner.

"And where may I find this Jimmy?" V queried darkly as he reached for the pommel of the dagger that was pinning him to the wall. The older man had not even attempted to resist the dagger once it had forced him back onto the wall. He knew better than to provoke this dangerous man any further. V pulled the blade out of the stone, replacing it's pressure with his own. A gloved hand wrapped cleanly around the mans thick neck.

"I swear I don't know," Harry begged "we jus' gamble with him on Tuesday's when he works. I owe him a lot of money so when he tells me to do something' I do it. Called me up and told me to catch 'em. That's all h…"

"Hey! Stop right there!" a voice called from the distance, V growled and turned, vexed by the interruption.

There was a lone fingerman standing at the entrance of the alleyway, of average frame. He had a gun and a flashlight; both were pointed directly towards V's chest. The man squinted and tilted the beam of light up, trying to make out V's face through the hazy sheets of rain. His eyes widened in astonishment when he was finally afforded a proper view. "Oh my god, you're…"

Before he could even finish a word or pull the trigger a dagger was there to knock the fingerman's gun away. Another blade followed shortly after, landing at the man's and plunging into bone. It knocked him to the ground and he flailed, screaming in pain.

V pushed his current victim to the ground, and glided over to face his newest catch. "'Black it stood as Night/ Fierce as ten Furies,'" he quoted as he bent over the man, hollow black pits staring directly into terrified eyes, "'terrible as hell/ and shook a dreadful Dart…'"

"Oh god, oh god, oh god." V picked the finger man up by his collar, and with one swift movement of the glove, sent him into a merciful state unconsciousness. The vigilante remained silent as he pulled the dagger out of the mans bone, wiping it with the edge of the officer's coat and sheathing it. V watched the man's blood flow for a few moments, judging the wounds severity. There was a certain beauty to the sight of the glimmering dark liquid as it pooled onto the ground, mixing with the rest of London's filth and decay, somehow it seemed appropriate.

He turned back to face the two other men, and found them scrambling to recover themselves. One began to walk towards a gun, but paused as V's vacant gaze fell back upon him.

The vigilantes stare remained fixed upon the two frozen men for a long time as they tarried in the rain. His fists were clenched, his stance firm, and his form was as still as that of an ancient statue as he pondered the prospect of killing them. Bits of his wig were clinging to the sides of his mask and neck, streaming water onto both cloth and skin alike.

And then…the first wailing sounds of a siren in the distance. Someone had finally noted the skirmish, presumably by ear, and had contacted the authorities.

V shifted, and the two men started. They had not noticed the siren yet, and were still standing still, awaiting his judgment. He would let them live, for now. The less attention that this particular case drew from the authorities, the better. If he had any hopes of finding the mother of those two children then it was best if he increased her chances of survival.

The terrorist turned from them, and focused his attentions on the rain gutter that he had formerly used for his entrance. He leapt upon it and, with inhuman speed, ascended upwards into the misty rain. Barely a sound could be heard as his shadowy form faded into the darkness of the night, and the glint of his daggers was the last thing that could be seen as he disappeared above. The two men were left standing there, panting heavily, both still frozen in fear. Both lucky to have escaped with their lives.

***

When V returned to retrieve the children they sat just as he had left them, huddled up to each other against the cold. Adam noticed him, but did not say a word. His hands sank from his ears as he looked up.

"They are gone," V spoke gravely as he crouched down to check on the boy's sister. He gingerly removed his hat from her eyes and placed it atop his head, and next came the cloak that had been wrapped around them. V fastened it to his neck, and he watched sadly as both children began to huddle and shiver with the lost warmth. The night was growing ever colder, and neither child would be safe lingering in such weather for much longer.

Dark leathery hands gently enfolded around Isabelle as V picked her up. She was to tired to protest, although V saw in her eyes that she was still afraid. He tucked her deep within the folds of his cloak, her yellow raincoat barely visible within it's depths, keeping her high enough to avoid any chance of being injured by his knives. She held on to him with growing comfort, her fatigue setting in fully now that she was out of the rain.

"Come" V instructed, holding his cloak out for the boy to slip beneath while they walked, "we've a long journey."

"Where are you taking us?"

"Somewhere safe." V announced, anxious to leave the area. He walked them to the edge of the rooftop, and there they began their long trek.

***

Once V had gotten them all safely down to ground level the way home had been soggy, slippery, and wet. After an hour of brisk walking that was occasionally flavored with the event of ducking into a nearby alleyway or side door, they finally reached the side of a rather tall building that looked all but abandoned amidst the rather shoddy and neglected area of London that they had now entered. No one was around them, all the area around them was cast in ghostly silence, save for the droning buzz of a nearby street light and the gentle yet constant trickle of rain.

"Stand behind me," V ordered softly as he removed his cloak from around Adam's shoulders and released his sister into his arms. "This shall only take a few moments."

He smoothed his gloved hands across the flimsy wooden boarding that was blocking what had once been the door of an apartment complex. It had been shut down years ago, after a military raid had evicted a large community of middle eastern men and women from the surrounding area. Without proper funding, no one had bothered to restore the complex, and it had been boarded up and left to rot with the rest of London's scum in this derelict area. The people who lived here were poor, lived off of little, and tried as hard as possible to stay hidden from the governments ever watching eye. There were rumors and reports of escaped convicts and undesirable survivors of the reclamation. People who, much like V, spent most of their time hidden away in the darkness, lest they be caught generally participating in the act of human existence.

V gripped the sides of the board and, with a bit of a grunt, moved it aside with surprisingly little effort-- it was not fastened to the building in quite the manner that one would have naturally expected. Behind it lay a locked door, which V, surprisingly enough, had full access too. He slipped a key into the lock and then guided the children into the building. After doing so he placed everything back in order, sliding the board back in place and locking the door behind them; everything an effort to conceal their whereabouts.

V, once again, placed Isabella in his arms and proceeded to lead them up a several flights of stairs.

"This is where you live?" the boy asked after a while of ascending the stairway.

"This is where you are staying."

Upon reaching the top floor V led the children to another door, this one small and green, one of the numbers that had formerly been displayed upon it's surface was knocked away, and only a solitary golden five remained. This particular door held several locks, and even required a pass code to get in, V typed the numbers in quickly and soon had everyone inside.

The lights flickered on, and V dropped the girl to her feet as all were greeted with the sight of clean but somewhat plain flat. There not much adorning the walls, an abstract painting graced the eggshell blankness here and there, along with occasional light switch, but aside from that, there was nothing else. The room before them was tidy, the sparse furniture consisting of a pullout couch, a leather armchair, a television sitting upon a stand, and a small coffee table. The carpet was soft, dark, and blue, but equally as unimpressive. Everything about them screamed of simplicity and minimalism, and spoke to the fact that this place, whatever it's purpose, was not used very often.

V made his way into a small but adequately arranged kitchen, and grabbed a dishcloth out of a nearby cupboard. He ran it underneath the water from a sink, and then approached the small girl. She had a cut on the front of her head as a result from her brother's fall, not unlike the one Evey once had when he had first delivered her into the gallery. He bent down and pressed the cloth gently upon the wound, wiping away bits of blood and cooling the swelling bruise. Tears streamed down her face, but she remained silent, still quite obviously afraid of him.

"What are your names?" V asked pleasantly, momentarily absorbed in his task.

"I'm Adam," the boy stated, "and my sister here is Isabelle"

"Isabelle," V intoned, articulating the word as if savoring a fine dish. " 'Gentle Isabella' what a beautiful name." Through this he found a smile on her face. "And brave Adam, your courage today was quite impressive. It is rare, in this world, to see one so young display such bravery." The boy smirked modestly, but his the expression quickly faded as a notion dawned upon him.

"Are you gonna leave us here?" Adam asked, his brows furrowed with concern.

"No, not alone, but I will need to go away for a few moments. There is someone I must contact."

"The police?"

The notion was completely absurd, "no," V chuckled "most certainly not the police. An old friend, I shall need her assistance."

"Is she coming here?"

"It's a possibility, but I shall have to discuss that with her. Now," he said as he lowered the cloth from Isabelle's head, satisfied with his work for now "are you hungry?"

"Yes, sir, mister, uh...mister…"

"You may call me V," V said as he stood and disposed of the cloth.

"That's your name?"

"I have no name, but that is what you may call me" V opened up the refrigerator and bent to examine it's contents, "ah," he took a jug of dark red liquid out and wriggled it in front of them, smiling beneath the mask "cranberry juice. It appears to be all I have."

The boy's eyes widened visibly, but he did not say anything. If they had stayed out on the streets that night, there would have been nothing to eat at all.

"Fear not, however, I shall acquire more food, along with a few other necessities," V grabbed two glasses and poured them each a cup, guiding them to his small dining table to drink. "I must leave now," he said as he rested his hands upon the edge, "I should return within the hour, so please do make yourselves at home. The temperature should rise with time, as I have already raised the thermostat. I shall bring you both a change of clothing and perhaps a few other things. It certainly won't do to remain soiled in rainwater for the rest of the night. There are towels in the loo," he pointed in the direction of the facilities, "if you should wish to dry up. Now, is there anything else you might ask for, before I go?"

"No," the boy shook his head, "we're fine"

"Farewell then," V nodded his head and turned to make his way for the exit.

"Thank you, Mister V," a small, feminine voice spoke from behind him, surprising both the vigilante and the girls older brother.

"You're welcome, my dear," V said as he turned while opening the door, "you're very, very welcome." And with that, he was gone without another word.

***

IN MEMORIAM: THE VICTIMS OF THE ST. MARY'S VIRUS: Evey read the script upon one of the many polished stone walls surrounding the area as she sat upon a marble bench that made up the edge of a rather large bronze monument.

The figures of five lifeless children stained with verdigris danced in circle above her, each mounted upon a series of rocks that were set into a pool of water. Evey gazed into the liquid, momentarily studying her murky reflection, then gazed up to study the smallest bronzed child of the bunch. It was little boy, one that reminded her of her brother. She bit back a tear and closed her eyes as a plethora of memories began to flood her mind.

"No," she whispered, her head tilting down, "he's gone. You can't cry about it. Not anymore." She remained that way for quite some time, pondering many of the same things over and over, and waiting for an answer that would never come.

'"It was not a new world, but rather another chaos, that it created in us."' she thought as she recalled a quote that V had once read to her:

Well now there was a bit of truth. Her world seemed so chaotic now, like puzzle pieces strewn all about the floor. V had changed the bigger picture, of course, but the pieces were still there, and her life remained unsolved. Who would solve this most greatest of mysteries, she wondered, who would be the one to place the next piece? Would it be herself, someone else…V?

The sound of muffled footsteps startled Evey out of her momentary reverie. She stifled a gasp as she looked to see who was approaching. Curfew had long passed by now. No one ever came to this place after nightfall, not even the fingermen, it was simply did not happen. Her muscles coiled, preparing to escape if necessary. Those footsteps…they sounded so, so familiar. Could it be?

Peering into the darkness before her, she saw the first signs of evidence, the appearance of a creamy white mask and the soft blue hues of light reflecting off of a pair of polished boots. The man was like a ghost floating towards her, and the cadence of his steps beat in tandem with the rhythm of her heart.

It was him…it was V

When he reached full visibility in the grungy air around them he stood before her, not an apparition, but a man. A soft gloved hand moved to remove the hat upon his head, revealing a wet and matted wig beneath. "Evey" he tipped his head down in a partial bow, ever the gentleman.

"V…what are you doing here?" she stood up, her expression a mixture of surprise and confusion.

He remained silent, at first, unsure of how to word his request. She was just as he had left her, a vision of grace, elegance, and dignity. Her eyes flashed with pride and defiance, a combination of feelings that his own eyes reflected beneath the mask, although she would never see it.

"What's going on?" she began again, "You're soaked. Your cloak…and your hat…you don't have them."

"Ah," his head bobbed with nervous humor, "I see your powers of observation have remained intact…"

"V, come on. I _know _that this isn't a coincidence. How did you now where I was? And tell me why you're here."

"You've been here every Saturday since your departure."

"Have you been watching me?" slight brows began to furrow and she took a step toward him, her tone accusatory.

"No, I visit this memorial quite often," he said as he smoothed a dark glove across the polished stone of one of the walls, " we have a history, this place and I, and are inexorably tied by the strings of fate. I…happened to notice you once or twice during my outings."

"Right," she stated skeptically, "so you avoided me then, but why aren't you now?"

"I need your help, Evey." He paused, letting the weight of his statement sink in, "I am well aware of probable hesitance but please…I would not seek your assistance unless it was absolutely imperative, you know this."

"My help?" her head tilted to the side, much as his often did.

"Yes"

"V," she paused for a few moments, shuffled her feet, and then sighed heavily in frustration. "I can't," her voice was smooth but declarative, "not after…no V. I thought that we had an agreement not to see each other until…well just not to see each other. You should have stayed away."

"We do Evey, and I assure you that I will remain entirely out of sight throughout most of the day if that is your wish but…"

"Throughout the day?" She looked back up, "what are you talking about. If this is some ploy to get me to come back to the gallery then it's not working. I told you I had to leave and I'm not going back on that decision. I can't go back there…we both know that."

"They are children, I can not watch over them the entire day. I must track down the man who is keeping their mother."

"Children? V, you brought children to the gallery? Where…my god, have you gone mad?"

"No, not the gallery, the flat."

"Flat?"

"I've owned one for quite some time."

"Right…and you have children there?"

"Yes, a very young lady and her older brother. Last night there were two men who were attempting to capture them and I was able to liberate them from the situation but I'm afraid that their mother is still in danger. As far as I can gather she is being held captive by rather ruthless abuser, currently employed as a fingerman who forces her to do his bidding by threatening death to both the she and her children

"You saved them."

"If you choose to see it that way"

"And either she lets him have sex with her or he has them all killed?"

He cleared his throat, "…yes Evey, I presume so. I must collect more information on the matter before I can proclaim any certainly, but meanwhile the children have been stranded and it would be best if they had caretaker. I have the option of leaving them alone but in doing so I am risking their wellbeing. I needed someone I could trust, which is why I came to you?"

"And this isn't just some part of your 'big plan'" she waved her arm around mockingly, making a quotation gesture in the air.

"No, I did not plan this. Nothing that has occurred today was scheduled"

She paused for a long while and looked back towards the monument beside them, focusing her gaze once more on the smallest figure. She moved closer to it, and placed her hand on one of its arms.

"Do you know why I come here on Saturdays?" she asked, her voice fluid and distant.

"Your brother, Evey. He died on a Saturday."

"How did you know that?"

"You told me the date once, long time ago. I…simply did the math."

"Oh," she looked down to the ground, "well, I get Saturday's off so I come down here…to think I suppose. My mother always did tell me that I spent too much time thinking. She never understood it; I get that from my father, you know…but anyways, I think a lot here. About the past, about the present, about the future... Sometimes I feel like he's sitting here with me, my brother I mean, guiding me, lending me strength." Her gaze turned back up to his, "I felt like that sometimes when I was in that cell, too"

Her eyes darkened, daring him to stop her from broaching the subject, "I thought that if he had the courage to die…if my mother, and father, and Valerie had it, then maybe I did as well. That's part of what kept me going, and I come here to remind myself of that. To remind myself that after this whole thing ends there will be roses again, roses that vindicate my brothers death, that vindicate my imprisonment, and that vindicate you."

V remained fixed in a state of silence, unsure of her motives in speaking such words.

She sighed, "V, you know very well that if there is any way that I can help prevent someone from having to experience the same things that I have, I will. It's what my brother would have done, it's what Valerie would have done, and it is what I will do. I'll help."

"Thank you, Evey." he said gratefully, and took a cautious step towards her, "it means the wor…."

"I'm not doing it for you, V"

He paused, and then his head bowed gently, deflated "…I know."

"Just let me get some things from my flat, I'll be right back.." she tightened her grip on the strap of handbag that she had been carrying, turned to make an exit. She halted, however, when a certain thought crossed her mind, and spun around to face him briefly once more, "…and stay here. I don't need an escort."

"As you wish" he said as he took a seat upon the edge of the monument, entwining the fingers of his gloves together, "I shall remain fixed to this very spot."

"Good," she gave him a satisfactory nod and proceeded to exit the area.

He watched her form as it faded into the dark, his gaze lingering even after she had disappeared. "'Whatever our souls are made of," he whispered lowly into the murky darkness, "[hers] and mine are the same.'"

Credits and quotes a (In order of appearance):

"Away with our destroyers! They have no place within our better world. But let us raise a toast to all our bombers, all our bastards, most unlovely and most unforgivable, let's drink their health…and meet with them no more." -Alan Moore, _V for Vendetta _

Not a quote, but when Evey is musing over her new existence and ponders the "shadows dancing across a blank stone wall," she is alluding to the "Allegory of the Cave" from Plato's _The Republic_

"Do you think that I am easier to be play'd on than a pipe?" -William Shakespeare, _Hamlet_

"Black it stood as Night/ Fierce as ten Furies, terrible as hell/ and shook a dreadful Dart" -John Milton, _Paradise Lost _

"Gentle Isabella" term used in Shakespeare's _Measure for Measure_

"It was not a new world, but rather another chaos, that it created in us." -Oscar Wilde, _The Picture of Dorian Gray _

"Whatever our souls are made of his and mine are the same." -Emily Brontë, _Wuthering Heights _(I changed the pronoun to fit the context)


End file.
